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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029218">Blanket Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars'>TowardTheStars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dissociation, Drama, Early Mornings, Exhaustion, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Smoking, Snirius Discord's StarPrince Kinktober 2020, Touch-Starved, Touching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:20:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the Ides of March, the world frosts over, and Sirius sits alone. </p><p>Or, two touch-starved men find comfort in each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>StarPrince Kinktober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blanket Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is written for Day 15 of the Snirius Kinktober prompts: Touch-Starved.</p><p>The title is from the song Blanket Me by Hundred Waters.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lost in his thoughts, Sirius doesn’t hear the person behind him approach. It’s a problem that’s been getting worse: the way he’ll disappear and come out hours later, dimly aware of the passage of time. He’s fortunate that so few people bother him at Grimmauld; so far, no one has noticed.</p><p>The person approaches behind him, and Sirius cranes his head as he wonders who it could be. He’s up early, some inane hour where it’s still mostly dark and frost layers the grass. It’s cold now on the ides of March, and it would bother most, except, now Sirius is always cold.</p><p>Sitting outside like this has become almost like a ritual. He sleeps sporadically at best and not at all at his worst. He wakes early, the world silent. He’ll slide out of bed, shrug two or three blankets around his shoulder and stumble downstairs. He’ll make a cup of coffee and slip out back, into the small backyard with the one oak tree and the dying bushes.</p><p>The cold will nip at him, numbing his fingers and biting at his nose. He’ll wrap the blankets tightly around himself, cradle the cup of coffee in his hands, and once the cold has made him properly numb, cast a warming spell. The cocoon of warmth he creates around himself is nearly enough to convince himself that he’s alright. He can never truly forget Azkaban, but in this pocket of warmth, it sometimes feels so distant that Sirius’s mind can jump over the worst of it.</p><p>As of yet, no one has disturbed him in his small morning ritual. People stop by, of course, as Grimmauld still operates as the Order’s headquarters. However, rarely anyone stays and no one comes this early.</p><p>Sirius is curious, hoping it’s someone like Remus or Kingsley. He wouldn’t mind Tonks either, his bright, energetic cousin. It’s strange to consider himself related to her; if he considers his immediate family, they’re all cold or dead or cold enough to be dead. His parents, Regulus, Bellatrix, Narcissa, himself…the world has not been kind to them, even if he thinks it’s half-deserved.</p><p>He turns, and it’s Snape.</p><p>He doesn’t want to see him. They despise each other, and after their confrontation in the kitchen over Harry’s Occulmency lessons, they’ve actively avoided each other. Sirius thinks it’s for the best.</p><p>He’s surprised Snape’s here; the man often reports directly to Dumbledore, so he only attends the group Order meetings. He leaves as quickly as he can manage, eschewing Grimmauld and Sirius’s hospitality as much as possible.</p><p>It rankled Sirius for a while: Snape’s sneering disapproval of the house and Sirius. He doesn’t care anymore, but he still likes to fight Snape. He hates the man but can’t help the sour jealousy of Snape doing something important while Sirius sits around. Snape knows how badly it bothers him, which is why he always takes the chance to rub it in Sirius’s face.</p><p>Sirius braces himself now for some snide comment that will make him grit his teeth and try to hiss out a scathing response in return. Snape’s standing rigidly in the doorway, face obscured by his long, lank hair. There’s something in his hand, but Sirius can’t see it well enough.</p><p>Sirius wonders if he should say something; it’s hard for him to engage in the morning, even more so than the rest of the day. If it wasn’t for the alcohol, he would probably spend the whole day unable to speak to anyone. With alcohol, it’s only slightly easier.</p><p>Luckily, Snape speaks before he has to decide.</p><p>“Do you mind?” he rasps, gesturing with his hand. His voice sounds rough, torn, and Sirius startles at the contrast with its usual smoothness. Sirius nods, still not entirely sure what Snape wants to do.</p><p>It’s made clear when Snape lifts a cigarette to his mouth. He lights it with his fingers, a nice show of wandless magic, and inhales sharply. The end of the cigarette glows, the fiery ember standing starkly out against the unsaturated browns and grays. Sirius watches, transfixed, as Snape blows out, the smoke curling around him before fading away. He slumps against the doorway and repeats the action.</p><p>After a minute or two, Snape notices Sirius watching him. He stills, takes in Sirius and his three blankets, and then sighs. “Do you want one?” he offers, and Sirius thinks this is the first time they’ve ever acted civil with each other.</p><p>He accepts, not having smoked since he was twenty-one, but not knowing how to say no. He shifts the blankets so there’s space on the bench if Snape wants to sit. He doesn’t think he will, but then to his surprise, he does.</p><p>The bench isn’t that big, so Snape is closer to Sirius than anyone has been in a long while. He doesn’t know what to do, so he lets Snape pull out another cigarette and hand it to him. Sirius places it in his mouth, and Snape performs the spell again to light the end of it.</p><p>Sirius knows it’s a mistake the minute the smoke hits his lungs. He ends up coughing it violently out, bent over as he hacks the smoke out of his lungs. Snape sits beside him, waiting but not commenting. After a moment, Sirius pulls himself back together.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “It’s been a while.”</p><p>Snape gives a small shrug as if dismissing it. Sirius looks at him, and with the usual hatred and sneer stripped off of Snape’s face, Sirius finally notices how tired the man looks. There’s bags under his eyes, and his hair seems to be graying at his temples. He’s got heavy frown lines and a deep stress line between his eyebrows. He’s skinny, but he seems especially weak, slouched as he is against the bench. He’s not the formidable man he tries to present himself as, but someone tired and defeated.</p><p>He’s what Sirius sees in the mirror: someone ruined.</p><p>“Wha-what,” he starts, trying not to sound aggressive. He doesn’t have the energy right now for a fight. “Why are you…?”</p><p>Snape glances sideways at him, takes another drag of the cigarette, and gives another small shrug. Sirius watches him awkwardly, discomfort twisting in his gut.</p><p>“What are you doing, Black?” Snape asks, but it lacks the usual bite. Sirius looks down into his mug of coffee.</p><p>“Can’t sleep,” he mumbles. Snape nods slowly, lips pressed tightly together as the cigarette rests between his fingers. The lines of his face seem especially harsh in the early morning light, and he looks old, Sirius thinks. Far older than men their age should look.</p><p>Sirius watches the steam rise from his mug, still holding the cigarette in his fingers as the ember burns. “Are you-,” he stumbles out, the long stretch of silence pressing uncomfortably against him. He thinks he should be more used to silence after those long stretches alone in Azkaban. He’s not though, and he can’t stand to sit silently beside someone for so long.</p><p>Snape takes another long drag, the cigarette in between his pursed lips. He exhales harshly and scowls. “Was called tonight,” he spits out. “Albus told me to report here.”</p><p>“Oh,” Sirius says, unsure of what to do. “He didn’t tell me-.”</p><p>Snape cuts him off with a harsh sound from the back of his throat. “Are you surprised, Black?”</p><p>The words rake across his skin, and he pulls the blankets tighter around himself. He hates the role he’d been delegated. He hates the prison they’ve made of his house. He hates how he has to spend days and days alone, waiting for someone else to tell him something. Snape knows he hates it, and it makes Sirius an easy target.</p><p>He doesn’t respond; he’s too tired now to fight. He wants to sleep, but that has become so difficult as of late. “Anything happen?” Sirius asks tiredly, expecting Snape to just snarl at him again. He wants Snape to leave, but he dreads the return to his isolation.</p><p>Snape takes another harsh drag. He pulls his shoulders tensely upwards, and he twists the cigarette between strained fingers. “Yes,” he forces out, the word just as severe as his face. Sirius waits, but Snape doesn’t elaborate.</p><p>Sirius takes a sip of his coffee and wonders what he should do with his cigarette. Snape is almost finished his, so Sirius doesn’t know if he should throw his on the ground or offer it back. It seems callous to waste Snape’s generosity, despite his heavy dislike of the man.</p><p>“What are you doing out here?” Snape hisses out in one breath. Sirius blinks, looks over at him, but Snape stares intensely at a patch of frosted grass.</p><p>“I get cold,” Sirius states slowly, “and then I get warm.”</p><p>He doesn’t continue; for some reason, he thinks Snape understands. Despite their differences, they both have lived lives where the idea of control was practically laughable. He wants to ask Snape if Hogwarts feels just as much of prison as Azkaban did to Sirius. He wonders if the man resents the idea of being Dumbledore’s puppet. Sirius does, but his opinions don’t matter much anymore.</p><p>“Oh,” Snape responds, casting the finished cigarette to the ground. The ember melts the frost around it, and they both watch as it dies. Sirius figures now is the time to offer back the cigarette, and he does so, tilting his hand towards Snape.</p><p>Snape eyes it and then moves to take it back. As he does, his knuckles brush against the back of Sirius’s hand. He can’t help himself; he gasps. Snape’s hand is <em>warm</em>, hotter than Sirius would have ever expected someone like Snape could be. More than that, it’s the eleventh time someone’s touched him without malice in fourteen years. He would know; he’s been counting.</p><p>His gasp startles Snape, and he glances over at Sirius, black eyes dim in the dawn light. He’s got the cigarette in his hands now, but he’s pulled his hand back to his side. He’s watching Sirius, and Sirius shrivels at the embarrassment.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbles out, adding further to his humiliation. He tells himself to stop, to play it off and blame it on Snape. To try to save the situation for himself, but it’s so hard to care now. He’s got to know, Sirius thinks. Snape hardly has people tripping over themselves to touch him.</p><p>“Black…” Snape says warily. He’s quieted now, some of the harshness stripped back. Sirius finds it strange. Maybe the nicotine really does help him.</p><p>Sirius grips the coffee mug tightly, blankets slung up around his shoulders. He’s pressed his lips tightly together, the bristles of his beard scratching at his lips. He wishes Snape would just leave, but he doesn’t want to be alone.</p><p>“What?” Sirius mutters out. Snape is staring at him, waiting, and whatever he did works because Sirius finds himself trying to explain. “It’s not you,” he explains defensively. “I can count on two hands the number of times someone’s touched me in the past fourteen years, alright? So bugger off,” he adds because he’s itching underneath Snape’s gaze.</p><p>Snape sucks at the cigarette and looks back down at the ground. He doesn’t say anything, and Sirius wishes he would so he could pretend offense and storm out. The house is empty besides the two of them, but he could sit with Buckbeack. It won’t be so bad then.</p><p>He’s about to do it anyway and leave this cold, frost-bitten bench when Snape moves. He’s still staring at the grass, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s his hand that moves – reaching out and finding Sirius’s.</p><p>His fingers are warm and strong, and they grip around Sirius’s. His fingertips are calloused, and they rest heavily against the cold skin of Sirius’s hand. Sirius can only hear the harshness of both of their breaths, sending plumes of cold air ghosting in front of them. He shuts his eyes, he can’t help it, and all his attention centers on the feel of someone’s hand pressed against his own. It’s nearly too much, the feel of someone else against his skin – but it feels nicer than anything he’s felt in months, if not years.</p><p>He forgot how it felt to touch someone. To have someone touch him. It makes him want to cry. His throat aches painfully.</p><p>The touch stirs something underneath his skin, and he prays desperately that Snape won’t move away. That he won’t relegate Sirius to a quick hand squeeze and then leave him alone in the cold. If he does, he’ll need to drink immediately. He won’t be able to handle it otherwise.</p><p>Snape stays though, and his fingers grow cooler as Sirius’s warm. They still haven’t spoken, but to do so would break the spell between the two of them. Sirius doesn’t want that to happen, so he remains mute.</p><p>He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but he has the sense that if he looks at Snape, he’ll scare him off. That’s not something he wants to risk, so he remains in the darkness. He doesn’t mind, though, as it allows him to focus entirely on the feel of Snape’s hand against his. He tries to imprint it in his memory, maps the harsh callouses and the bony knuckles and the curve of his palm.</p><p>Sirius loses track of time, so he’s not sure how long it took for him to finally summon the courage to do more. He figures if he has the chance, he has to take it. It might be months before someone actually touches him again, and he can’t bear the thought of that anymore.</p><p>He moves slowly, doing his best not to frighten the other man away. He’s never seen Snape touch anyone before, and now that he thinks of it, he’s never seen anyone touch Snape either. He wonders if, like himself, Snape can distinctly remember each time someone braved to reach out for him.</p><p>He wants to think that Snape needs this as badly as he does, and if so, he won’t oppose what Sirius wants to do. He still moves slowly, of course, because this is just as unfamiliar to him as, he thinks, it is to Snape.</p><p>The top blanket slips from his shoulder as he extends his arm to wrap it around Snape’s side. They shift awkwardly together, limbs heavy and struggling to navigate in the tight space. Their knees knock together as Sirius pulls Snape towards his chest. He doesn’t think the man will give, but then he does, leaning into the side of Sirius’s chest.</p><p>Their breaths come out heavily, and Sirius feels hyper-aware and jacked up; the early morning haze blasted away by the sudden contact. He’s got Snape against him, one arm wrapped around his thin chest and under his arm. He shifts the blankets around Snape also, so that it surrounds him in a sort of hug. Snape burns hot against his chest, and his breath catches at the influx of heat. The blankets dutifully trap it, but he still pulls Snape closer, tightening his grip.</p><p>Snape sits stiffly against him until he suddenly relaxes. He tilts his head upward, pressing his nose into Sirius’s neck. He presses harder, rubbing the sharp edge of his nose into the line of Sirius’s jaw and the stubble of his beard. Sirius grows dizzy, skin alight at the contact.</p><p>They sit like that for a long while, Snape in Sirius’s arms and swaddled in blankets, and Snape pressing up and against Sirius, expanding the skin to skin contact. At one point, his lips accidentally brush against the sensitive skin of Sirius’s neck, and that <em>burns. </em></p><p>He has to stop himself from trying to kiss Snape. He can’t help but feel as if that would be a mistake; far too much at once and sure to ruin this moment they’re somehow sharing together. Besides, he’s been denied touch for so long that he won’t act greedy when he finally gets the chance to hold someone. No, he’ll enjoy this and cherish it and imprint it in his memory, so that on his coldest days, he won’t have to feel so alone.</p><p>Besides, he thinks, maybe Snape will want more. Maybe he won’t. They still hate each other, but they might be too touch starved to care.</p><p>Snape is the one to finally pull away, shrugging off the blankets and lifting the forgotten cigarette to his lips with a shaking hand. He inhales and exhales, staring at some dead spot in the yard. He’s relaxed slightly from the earlier tense mess, but he still looks exhausted. His lips pull heavily into a frown, and his eyes stare distantly, something lost in their depths.</p><p>Sirius doesn’t know if he should speak, so he waits. For the first time, he doesn’t feel pressed to fill the terrifying silence. He’s warm to his core, and his whole body sings from the contact. He wants to smile for the first time in months, but he stops himself. That, certainly, would scare Snape away.</p><p>For now, he holds the blankets around him, picks up the mug he quickly placed on the ground and stares at the ancient oak tree. Snape sits quietly as he finishes the cigarette, and like before, he throws it to the ground.</p><p>They both watch as the ember dies, the light flickering out against the frost-bitten grass. The sun is rising, but it’s still cold. They’ll have to go inside soon; Snape to report and Sirius to pretend like he matters. Albus will visit shortly, and then Remus will stop by this afternoon. Sirius will fill the time by drinking, and Snape will disappear back to Hogwarts. They’ll see each other at the next Order meeting, and they won’t talk. If they do, it’ll be something ugly and vicious; hate doesn’t die in the dawn.</p><p>He hopes, though, that another morning, Snape will join him, cigarette flickering between his fingers and lips. He’ll like to hold him again, or he’ll like Snape to hold him, pale fingers running through Sirius’s hair as Sirius clings to his bony body. They won’t talk much, but they won’t need to.</p><p>For now though, they silently watch as the world lightens and the frost sparkles like diamonds on the ground.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! I wanted the hopeful ending - please take it as you will.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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